


Sometimes On The Rarest Nights

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Gosford Park (2001)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-18
Updated: 2008-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:04:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1640441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A present-day discovery of letters reveals to the public more<br/>about Ivor Novello's life.  But to those in the know, the letters reveal<br/>even more about Mabel Nesbitt, and the enduring friendship that spanned<br/>three decades. 6,600 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes On The Rarest Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my betas curtana, poisontaster and GG. As   
>  much as possible I have maintained a true timeline for the actual events   
> of and people in Novello's life during the years covered. If you wanted   
> to read a real life collection of Novello's letters such as Mabel's, the   
> Mary Ellis Papers of the Billy Rose Theatre Collection at the New York   
> Public Library are open to the public. 
> 
> Written for LJC

 

 

_\- article from The London Times, Monday 29 September, 2008_

**DISPUTE OVER HIDDEN LETTERS MAY POSTPONE NESBITT AUCTION** \- An eleventh hour discovery of hundreds of his mother's letters has caused friction between Havistam College and Crissabeys, only days before the prestigious auction house was to open Nesbitt House for a rare weekend estate auction, arranged under the direction of Sir David Nesbitt's unique will. 

Among those terms was the bequest of all his writings, diaries and personal correspondence to his alma mater, Havistam. It is the position of the college that the Mabel Nesbitt letters be considered part of that bequest, and therefore placed under its stewardship. 

The auction house, however, is confident that it has honoured both the terms and the spirit of the will, according to a Crissabeys spokesman. "Sir David was meticulous and exacting. Everything in the house was assigned its place, including written items belonging to other members of his family, most of which, it will be noted, were bequeathed elsewhere." 

Crissabeys would not offer further comment when asked if the letters would be given over to the Women's Library to be added to its Mabel Astley Nesbitt Papers, previously donated by her estate. Even as the letters are still undergoing research and valuation, sources confirm that it is likely some if not many will be included in the wider auction, leading to speculation concerning the identities of Mrs. Nesbitt's correspondents. 

Havistam College is pursuing further legal advice, and may soon file an injunction to prevent any further action regarding the letters by Crissabeys. The auction house has not made any change to its upcoming schedule. The public viewing of Nesbitt House and the Estate of the Honourable David Nesbitt is still slated to begin Friday 24 October 2008 and run through the weekend. The private auction will open at 3pm Sunday 26 October 2008. All proceeds raised from the auction will be donated to the organisations previously names as sole beneficiaries of Sir Nesbitt's estate: the UK AIDS and Human Rights Project, Musical Theatre Matters, and the MicroLoan Foundation.

* * *

_from the auction catalogue THE ESTATE OF THE HONOURABLE DAVID NESBITT - late insert_

**LOTS #72 to #78** \- Personal correspondence to Mabel Nesbitt, mother to the late Honourable Mr. Nesbitt, from Ivor Novello, actor, writer, composer, among the most popular British entertainers of the early 20th century. Letters cover the period from 1932 to 1951, and the highs and lows of Novello's later life - his most successful musicals of the 30s as well as the ignominy of his arrest and imprisonment for fraud during World War II. Names prominently featured include Christopher Hassall, his main lyricist; frequent lead actresses Mary Ellis and Zena Dare; and longtime lover Robert Andrews. Known public figures also referenced include writers Siegfried Sassoon and Noel Coward; editor JR Ackerley; members of the royal family; and Winston Churchill. Items are those remaining from a collection of letters uncovered during final house inspections, a significant portion of which sustained irreparable water damage. Lots contain 20-25 items of various condition, and are grouped in chronological order. Two or three letters from each lot will be displayed for public viewing and further inspection. Requests to view additional items in greater detail may be submitted by serious bidders only.

* * *

 **LOT 72: 1932 to 1933**

_A letter dated 4 December, 1932_

My dear Mrs. Nesbitt; How extraordinary it was to receive your letter. Of course I remember you, well and with fondness. As it happens, I had been thinking of you quite a bit of late - although, unlike yourself, without direct prompt. Thank you for your kind wishes. I believe our play is providing great entertainment, to judge by our audiences' responses. It is not for me to say if it is a good work, however it has been a joy for me to return to the stage. 

You met me at a low time that weekend, I am afraid. I had just got out of Hollywood, my tail between my legs. It is a strange life over there, and one for which I daresay I am not cut out to muster any enthusiasm. Do you know, when Morris called upon me I was even contemplating a full retirement from the footlights, this picture business had disillusioned me so. I thought perhaps I would turn my full focus back upon my songs - I have long dreamt of writing a proper opera, but I won't bore you with further talk of that. Let us just say I was overoccupied with the goings-on in my mind before that unforgettable weekend we shared, and ever since I have been busy and aflutter with business. 

Presently I am absorbed with new ideas for my own plays, which is where I return to the subject at hand, that of thinking of you. I have in mind a comic mystery, that is to say a romance in which our lovebirds must overcome the obstacles presented by an inconvenient murder during a weekend away among their manor set. I must confess a shockingly poor memory for particular sorts of details, and so it occurred to me that perhaps I should put shoulder to the wheel of research and ask about to see what others remember of that weekend. 

This is how I came to think of you, most joyfully I might add, for I was dreading any sort of contact with The Sisters and their gang. And here arrives your most gracious letter at my door! Kismet insists upon our meeting, it is clear. Are you free for luncheon in the next fortnight? I should like it very much if you would oblige me the honour. 

With my highest regards Ivor Novello 

PS - I signed with my stage name because I thought you might like your own Novello autograph, but please call me David - all my friends do. 

_A letter dated 17 April, 1933_

Dearest Mabel; I am the lowest of creatures, will you ever forgive me? You will never know the depths of my regret that I missed our appointment. At least you can be comforted by knowledge of the painful obstacle that kept me from you. The Harridan cornered me after my rehearsal with Christopher again, and this time, I can scarcely believe even as I write and remember it, she laid hands upon me to prevent my escape until she was done with me. Forty five wretched, caterwauling minutes of hell I endured, instead of the heaven of your company, and all to feed the delusion of a once bright young thing. She will not accept both that she is no longer an ingénue soprano and that she will not play the mother in my next piece - I have someone else in mind. 

Thank goodness for Bobbie, and I am so very pleased that my lamentable absence served to provide you both with the chance to speak at greater length. He is my dearest of dear friends, and a better man could not be found the length of the country. You might say we came up on the boards together, and we struggling performers must rally always against the stiff wind of impecunious luck, so long ago we two agreed to throw our lots in with each other, through thick and thin. By grace and luck, it has turned out that we are extraordinarily well suited to each other, companion and colleague both. 

He promises me that he did not give you the indoor tour of Redroofs, as he knows that is my particular specialty, but I have been informed that you share his unfortunate fondness for cottage gardens. I suppose I should give that argument up and declare the war lost for any hope of a straight pathway in my own yards. Bobbie insists his is an opinion based on aesthetics, but I am still not convinced it is not the argument of a lazy man! 

Do let me show you the place soon, I was so disappointed to have just missed you. In the meanwhile, I am hopeful that you might be able to join us in town this Friday at Pastis for a dinner party I am giving for my friend Zena, in the hopes I can persuade her to change her mind. She has been talking of retirement again, and you simply must help me stop such a ridiculous idea from taking root in that head of hers. I know she will adore you at once, as I did. 

Yours faithfully, David

PS - I foolishly left off the sealing of this letter until after tea, and of course my Nosey Parker saw the bit about the gardens - he insists I add that he finds it amusing that the one who has never pulled a weed in his life insists upon calling him lazy. I feel I must defend myself - one should not be constrained from opinions of theory simply because one has chosen not to take up the practice. Otherwise, I ought have never heard his denunciations concerning my choice of tea biscuits. Bobbie also says that I should tell you in the strongest words that we will be ringing later, to make sure you do not decline the dinner invitation. It is clear already I have a rival for your affections in this house, I will make sure to seat him faraway from you to better my cause! 

_A note dated 7 August, 1933_

Darling Bel - I fear I did not convince you sufficiently before we left, and dash this off so that you waste no time with needless worry. I told Bobbie of your awkward introduction to Siegfried - yes it may surprise you, but they too are acquainted, to be sure. Sassy is our shyly flirtatious friend who prefers his company in single fashion, and we have come to enjoy him as a `steal-away' companion on those occasions either of us need a footloose weekend away. This time around we have agreed I am well overdue for such relief. I will ring you upon my return. Much love - David 

**LOT 73: 1934 to 1935**

_A letter dated 24 January, 1934_

Sweet girl - No one can know another's mind any more than another's heart. It pains me, to respond with such bland pablum to your questions, knowing how very much you seek solace from the answers. Only Freddy can answer for his unforgiveable behavior, but I fear behind your urge to ask such questions lay a guilt you think you deserve to bear in all of this. You are such a good hearted person, Mabel, always thinking of others and wanting to do more than your share if it will help, but you must see how he counts upon that, in order that he may shirk his own responsibility. And thus it is that the philanderer insists the women made him stray. But how on earth could he blame you for getting the sack, when it was his hands caught in the proverbial till? Is it possible that even now Freddy still believes it was he who engineered the rapprochement with your father, and their business partnership with Meredith? I had no idea of your astonishing skills of inveiglement, that plan of yours was so clever it ought to be a play - I would steal it, but there has been enough theft of late. 

I go too far, I apologize for that quip - my indignation on behalf of friends often coaxes the petty Novello divo in me to interject with unseemly force or ill-advised humour. I admit, as well, to a distracted mind while writing to you, because I have not yet sorted out the words or a proper way to ask the question that has burnt through me since reading your note. So please accept my apologies again. Had you already told Freddy about your news before his indiscretions came to light? I hope I am not indulging the divo again, however I cannot help but say that I am still thrilled for you, and intend to spoil the child terribly. 

Even in the darkest gloom, birdsong travels carefee. 

Always yours - David 

_a note dated 1 May 1934_

Happy May Day Bel! My mother was insistent that I send you this package on her behalf. I believe she wishes to share with you all her pregnancy secrets and remedies, however she refuses to share them with me. I can hazard a guess regarding the witch hazel, and I vaguely remember something medicinal about nettle tea, but the pineapple has confounded me. Her instructions are enclosed (I had to swear upon my voice that I would not peek). I am very happy to hear that Freddy has been more tender and attentive towards you recently. I hope you are right, that impending fatherhood has settled him at last. I just wish he might secure a position or some sort of work to keep him occupied. Since your father's new arrangement has resolved the financial insecurity that so rattled him previously, I worry that Freddy now has enough free time to get into new mischief. Idle hands are the devil's workshop, and so forth. Listen to me, I worry more than my mother! Ignore both us Welsh birds, and enjoy the beautiful spring day! Matronly yours, David.

_A letter dated 15 July, 1934_

Bella madonna - See how the apprentice becomes the master! I have not nearly as many morsels to share. I suppose I hear most regularly from Morris - always by telephone, naturally. He has been busy with yet another Charlie Chan, this one set at an opera. He plagues me with endless variations of the same questions, what opera should they use, or should they write a new one, or would that take too long, what would you do - and after all of that bother, he has no use for any suggestion I offer! I suppose he has good cause, since I know so very little about musical theatre. He rarely speaks of his partner in crime, but I have it from other friends in town that Henry Denton has landed upon his feet, securing numerous small roles thanks to his prodigious networking abilities. 

Speaking of Sylvia, I hear she has need of a new bete noire, now that it appears the Prince of Wales has no interest in anyone else save that dreadful American. Pity his taste did not favour widows. What can he be thinking. I have met him on a few occasions, years back - he seemed the dim but cheerful sort who had not a whit of rebellion in him, but it would seem I have misjudged. Of course my impression of him was coloured by circumstances of both meetings - the first time around, Noel was besotted with Kent, as were we all, while the second time around I was distracted by Winston, who was besotted with me! 

I am glad to hear that not all the Carton women are beastly, and what keen timing for Lavinia to have revealed the evidence of that during these past few months. Honestly I am quite relieved you have her and Meredith on your side, they will provide the sort of insight into Freddy's world and mindset that you might not get elsewhere. The more you have told me of his behavior towards you, the more certain I have become that he was the guilty one that weekend. 

I have not seen Elsie about in quite some time. She has done brilliantly. The crew adore her spirit and the costume mistresses admire her skill and imagination, and so she is kept very busy. Nevertheless, I will endeavour to cross her path soon to enquire on your behalf, she has kept in touch with many of the below stairs, I am quite certain. I am flabbergasted how many of them you remember. I had visited William on several occasions before, and yet can only remember two or three of the staff by face or name. 

The weather has been horrid this season, I do hope you have not continued fussing with your garden. You know how I worry about your health, promise me you will ring Bobbie so that he may be the one with dirty fingernails if you cannot resist the urge to putter among your flowers.   My love always, David 

**LOT 74: 1936 to 1938**

_A note dated 7 December, 1936_

Hip hip to you, it is a great start! I began the same way - writing can give joy and solace, it is true, but I think most important of all, writing allows one to transform anxiety, despair, confusion and doubt into a thumping good tune! (That is how it is for me, in any case.) I will send you a box of my favourite fountain pens, including a few that brought me Glamourous, Rapturous luck! 

What a strange year it has been - do you suppose Mrs. Simpson is determined to destroy the monarchy, or does she truly believe she could be Queen? Americans can be both excessively enthusiastic and optimistic, so it is hard to judge. I cringe just to write it, but imagine, it could have been Sylvia at the center of that row. - D 

_A note dated 10 February, 1937_

He was a selfish, shallow, black-hearted cad. I know it is not the proper or gentlemanly thing to say, but I am very glad he has slunk away at last. Damn him to his foolish Cairo fantasies. You are surrounded by adoring friends keen to help - we will not let you fall, my darling, I promise you upon my honour. Ahead of you now are only better and brighter days. My love, always - David 

_A letter dated 12 October, 1937_

Mabel - I simply love it, truly, and think it marvellously well observed. I have said it every time you have sent me a piece, so I hope you do not yawn at the words, but you are a wonderful writer. Your heroines are so very appealing, I do wish you would reconsider my offer to chat up Ackerley or some of the Bloomsbury lot on your behalf. You have it in your head that there is some hidden and highly organised fashion by which books are published and writerly reputations made, but because you do not know the rules you cannot ever have such standing. It simply is not true. While it may appear from the outside that Ivor Novello calls for his cast and crew to assemble whilst the tunes and stories flow from his pen, and there follows like clockwork another September opening, you know from your own observation of me that this is far from the truth of it. 

Glamourous Night was a long lived success more likely because it outran all the chaos that shuffled just behind it than thanks to its brilliant creator! How many years had I moaned and carped about trying to get that story from head to paper? Do you recall how frantic I was, no lyricist in place yet sets already being built, and then saw Christopher at a party? And that horrible period when Mary was snatched away to Hollywood, and I thought she might never return? I must stop, my heart races just thinking on those nightmares again. 

Of course it all worked out in the end, but it is only that end that the public ever sees, and that is as it should be. So I say do not be dazzled by a row of books authored by famous names and prestigious houses, they are all just scratches of pen to paper, like your stories. And goodness knows they all love attending parties, so do let me gather their recommendations of a few editors or publishers with whom you could talk, the next time I must make a social appearance. Please think upon this before you answer, I am earnest in this - you have a gift and an opportunity, and they ought to be married. 

With love - David 

PS - Have you seen the papers today? The Divorce Act was passed, I know you will be relieved for such good news. We will celebrate your impending freedom at our Friday lunch. By then I will also have a list of clever noms de plume for you to consider. 

**LOT 75: 1939 to 1941**   _A letter dated 13 October 1940_

Dearest Mabel - I write again by torch, elbows out to make room in our cramped shelter. Mary is here, nestled beside me, and the rest of the principal cast and theatre staff. For once the air raid sirens granted us the favour of going off during intermission, and the sorting out was so well organised it felt almost like a stroll. I have lost count of the shows interrupted in such manner, and wonder if the next play ought to factor in such pauses. 

Bobbie has gone to the Midlands for a while. I miss him terribly, and hope that our row did not do permanent damage. This war has played upon emotions so fiercely. Everything could be the last time before, or the first moment after, the drama and uncertainty drive out the measured and calm response. It must be now, or risk it being never. I know you feel this pull also. Your letter was a revelation, and touched me deeply. I know now that I can be as forthright with you about matters of the heart as you were with me in your confidences and questions. 

I marvel at the woman you have become. Imagine the meal you would make of that odious Constance woman if you came across her these days, you have such confidence and self-possession. Hard as I know it was, I agree completely with your reasons for turning Rupert down in his proposal. We are neither children nor bright young things any longer, and so must take into account the long road as much as the short benefit. Your work, your writing, Davey - while he was a charming and decent chap, you are quite right that marrying Rupert would have been a detriment to all that you hold most dear. You have my complete and utter support for your decision, I just am sorry I was not free to be of greater help to you in the making of it. 

As for Bobbie, we have both broken it off in the past, on a few brief occasions. For my part it was often due to a sense of stricture and routine, while for Bobbie it was more related to the imbalances of career and fortune between us. No, we had never argued before about our arrangements with others, because we had always been open about such dalliances. That is the way of most men, our eyes rove and our feet stray. But my heart lies always in Bobbie's grasp. And his in mine, or so I still wish to believe, despite recent events. 

What frightens me most is the combination of separation and affair. He has also never allowed an understudy to take over his role for so long. It seems a minor point, but the Bobbie I love has always had the highest regard for craftsmanship and professionalism. I don't know what to think, or what to do, and meanwhile London crashes and burns around us all, and we are implored to stay strong, keep up with our normal lives and bear down, and so I have. And yet he has run away. Is this the real man, or is this the war playing upon his weakness? And what of me, have I cause to worry, or can it all be chalked up to heightened fear? Am I starring in a play of my own making? Good lord save us, I have always had a heavy touch with melodrama, so say the critics and the dear sainted mother. 

The all clear has sounded, so I will close out this rambling nonsense. I will see you soon, and you will box me about the ears until my good country sense has returned. 

All my love - David   

_A note dated 9 April, 1941_

Dearest Davey - I wish I could be there, but I know that Mummy will give you my hugs and kisses. It is all very hard right now, but these are such days where our duty to our king and country must come above all else. That is why I must travel about to sing my songs at military bases, why you must stay safe at school even during holidays and vacations, and why your mother must return to London to help out in the hospital wards. Your father's duty was to serve His Majesty. All soldiers are brave and true, but not all are made soldiers by their own request. Your father travelled two continents in order that he might serve in the battalion he knew he could help most, and he died in a country that long held his fascination. You should forever be proud of your father for his heroics in battle. Be a good boy for Mummy. I promise I will make sure she never misses her tea, and that she gives Maisy a good bone to gnaw on every now and then. Uncle Bobbie and I are already saving our coupons for the chocolate feast we will have when you come home. 

Your doting godfather, David 

_\- scribbled on foolscap into which the other letter is folded -_

Mabel darling, I hope this passes muster - tear it up if you think it rot. I believe every child should have something positive and redeeming to remember a parent by, even though it may demand some creative embellishment to do so. He has years to look through that glass darkly, if he chooses. Right now we all need our heroes. I will be back at Redroofs within the fortnight, so will see you soon. My love always, David. 

**LOT 76: 1942 to 1944**

_A letter dated 6 November, 1942_

Happy 10th! Can you believe we have a decades' worth of correspondence and friendship between us? It's simply impossible, I feel as if we have known each other forever, and yet I remember our first meeting as if it was earlier this season. Truthfully, the years have treated you marvellously well, and all signs point that they will continue to do so. Your book is smashing, and much more compelling then old girl Cartland's, which I find treacly and preachy. It will fly off the tables this Christmas season. I adore the dishy insider treats you have snuck in throughout the characterisations, all thanks to Lavinia and Elsie no doubt. I was also thrilled to see titles listed for your next three books in the series at the back. I told you Thomas was sincere in his admiration of your work, he is a wonderful publisher as well as being a truly lovely man. 

Meanwhile, as your career takes off, mine is veering into a dangerous lull. Of course I still have Dancing Years, but that is long in the tooth now in its third year, and it is much more Mary's plum to savour than mine. That is not a complaint, before you chastise me for poor manners - I did after all write the thing - but in the past when I have come to the point of boredom in performing a role, it is usually distracted by the excitement of writing its replacement. 

I am not quite sure why, but I have not been able to conjure up idea or urge compelling enough to get me at my desk again and keep me there. Recently Bobbie has turned diabolical in his plan to jolt me into inspiration, and now leaves strewn about the house reviews and articles extolling the brilliance and importance of Blithe Spirit, knowing full well its effect upon my competitive nature. Of course I don't begrudge Noel any of his deserved success, it is his endless prattling on about it that I find maddening. That reads far more petty than intended, darling, I promise! And I am chastened to admit that the spur is working, for I had just today decided to speak with Mary about ideas for a new musical play to create for her. 

If there were tin or aluminium to spare I would have sent the proper anniversary gift, but I hope that you accept this glass vial of Joy as a worthy replacement! 

Your devoted partner in crime - David 

PS I have forgotten a most wonderful bit of news! Christopher just rang me earlier to announce the arrival of little Imogen - he was beside himself with exhaustion and pride. I am so very happy for him and Eve, at long last doting parents. And I a doting godfather of two, as well - now I have the complete pair, a boy and a girl! 

_A letter dated 4 October, 1944_

M - I will never find words enough to convey to you my deepest gratitude for the loyalty and generosity of spirit you showed me while I was away. All you did on my behalf during those terrible weeks - seeing to Redroofs and the flat, keeping my poor boy company, sending those lovely letters from little Davey - such care and attention, I hold no hope for time enough to repay your many kindnesses. I write today to thank you especially for your visit during that time. I know how difficult it was for it to be arranged. You asked me no questions, I recall it like yesterday, just shared with me your lovely smile and quiet stories, as if we were at home drinking tea and admiring Bobbie's lilacs. My memories of Scrubs will be forever scratched deep into my weary bones, but because of you, I have one lovely brilliant daydream nestled among the nightmares. 

I cherish your friendship beyond the price of rubies, dearest girl - D 

**LOT 77: 1945 to 1948**

_A letter dated 2 March 1945_

Dear Mabel - I have loved your last letter to pieces, I have reread it so often. This new valet character is delicious, and I can see now that over these years you have stealthily acquired a near fluent mastery of my ilk's more subterranean dialects. Although, the real George was most emphatically deaf to that language, I was dismayed to find. My one quibble is that you have described him so precisely. I was quite happy with my image of him as he was, but then you had to spoil it by mentioning his `tousled wheat locks'. No, no, no - footmen in books must always be tall, dark and handsome, if young. Blonds are ruddy stableboys, venal playboys or slimy villains. I think we have found a new game for me to pass the time, if this lollygag continues.

Today we are somewhere near Birmingham - we wait for the USO to arrive. Some of their performers are joining in with us on a few visits. The rumour going around is that we might luck out and draw Hope, although for myself I would prefer his Crosby partner, or even better, Marlene. With some of these younger stars, my style next to theirs seems so rather musty, I fear. 

I am sorry I have not called or written much while away these past few months. I have come to embrace the relentless pace of this sort of touring. It keeps me busy, it keeps me focused outward, and it keeps me grateful just to be alive and whole. I am humbled to sing for these fine men and women, such lovely youngsters who cheer for me, sing along with my old chestnuts and lately have taken to whistling or humming `Lilacs' when I walk among them. It lightens my heart and makes the breath catch in my throat, it moves me so. The fear that loomed over me most heavily while I was at Wormwoods was that henceforward my name and reputation would only elicit jeers and hostility for my arrest and sentence. That it is from the military that I have received such warm welcome, given my crime, makes it doubly treasured.

Well, no more rest for the wicked. The Yanks have arrived, and it looks to be Mickey Rooney who will be cracking wise, so no Road to Morocco bit to follow, thank goodness. Keep well, sweetheart, and I will endeavour to ring you next weekend. Yours, David.

_A note dated 21 July, 1947_

Welcome home honeymooner, I trust the Jamaican hospitality has left you sun-kissed and breathless. A few things transpired while you were away. Firstly, the Windsor girl has decided to follow your example. Of course your chap is of the Boer variety of German, while her fiance is just your typical Teutonic boor. Much gossip on this topic, of course - the wedding may be filmed for television viewing (I shudder), Elizabeth will not exceed her ration books in the making of her dress, the hated Mrs. Duchess of Wallis may have her chance of return...many hours of amusement to tide us over for the season, you can be sure. Secondly, Master David Nesbitt has made his final decision, again, concerning his further education, and Shrewsbury will now be the making of him as a cricketer. I fail to see why he cannot do both - surely he can practise scales while practising googlies? Nonetheless, I look forward to hear what his next final decision will be, come the weekend. Enjoy the scotch (mum's the word). I trust you and your publisher have already begun working quite closely and with vigour to complete your next book, now that you both reside under the same roof. Give Tommy my best, and ring when you are able. All my best - D. 

**LOT 78: 1949 to 1951**

_A letter dated 19 September, 1949_

My dearest Mabel - It is well past one o'clock, the last revellers are long gone and even Bobbie has dropped off and gone to bed, but I am still wide awake and savouring every moment of this lovely but strange night. In some ways it seems that nothing has changed. Women in their finery, men in smart evening jackets, an exuberant audience bursting to applaud at first opportunity, Zena attempting to upstage the high soprano in her debut, Christopher's evocative lyrics, Bobbie the picture of gallantry, second from the left, you at third row two off center-left, three curtain calls and a standing ovation - all signs of a classic Novello production, and I am lulled into thinking it is 1935 again. 

Perhaps a part of me wishes it were so. That was a fine year, wasn't it? Your best creation, your splendid David just a wee baby, and my Glamourous Night was newly born. Of course, I am forgetting how terrifically chaotic its pregnancy was, that it was almost lost before it could have its triumphal opening, and that it was the same spring when Freddy was behaving at his unspeakably worst towards you. My memory may be spotty, but I would rather remember only the good than risk dwelling on all the rest. 

I think I must blame you for my nostalgia, naughty girl. Bobbie suggested I watch some telly to tire me out, but instead I decided to read the latest manuscript you sent me. And immediately I was back in that drawing room, swanning about as only a screen idol ought, or so I believed. I have reread your earlier ones so often, I no longer can tell, when I remember something, if I am recalling the actual event or a scene from your book. But it can't be helped, for the Gadwell Pond books are my favourite of your several series, and I am now far too old to change my sentimentalist spots. 

Christopher has tried to coax me into attempting the newer styles that have come into vogue, and I am glad that at least I was able to muster an arrangement or two for Rhapsody, but I simply cannot imagine how I would manage an entire show using any other style but my own. And I fear it would look more pathetic for me to attempt one of the newer musical trends, than to continue in an idiom that has become passé. Do I risk mediocrity in the vanguard, or mastery of the archaic? 

What advice have you, successful mistress of many genres? What should Ivor Novello's next great project be - do I strike out into a new realm altogether, or shuffle through my repertoire for a highlights tour like so many others of my contemporaries? Overflowing with love, and a considerable amount of Dom Perignon, I am always your devoted admirer - David 

_A note dated 21 March, 1951_

Mabel - Thank you so much, for everything. Those days right after are a weepy blur, and I don't know that I could have made it through without you there, at my elbow with a kind smile and the exact word of encouragement that I needed. The procession and memorial concert in particular - at times it angered me, that the legendary Ivor overshadowed my lovely David in death. Sometimes when I see the photographs of the crowds at the funeral, I wish I could shake those women until they see the real person whose grief they are crowding out with their hysterics. Never mind your theatre idol, what about my sweetheart? I miss him so much, Bel. A thousand times an hour I forget that he is gone, and each time I remember, it tears open my heart again. It's vicious, grueling and exhausting, this grief. My head knows that this is the worst of it, and that it will pass, but you know I have always put more stock in my gut than my smarts. And my gut refuses to settle. This is a wretched thank you note, but I know you understand. Please let's continue with the Friday teas? Now that your David is at university, we must hold each other closely on their behalf. - Bobbie

_A handwritten programme, dated 13 August, 1951_

A Private Concert to Celebrate MABEL NESBITT SYMINGTON on the Anniversary of Her Birthday and to Honour the Life of Her Beloved Friend David Ivor Davies

My Dearest Dear - performed by Mrs. Mary (Ellis) Roberts

Keep the Home Fires Burning - performed by Mr. Thomas Symington

Shine Through My Dreams - performed by Mr. Robert Andrews

Thoughts of You - performed by Lady Lavinia Meredith

I Can Give You the Starlight - performed by Miss Imogen Hassall, in her debut performance

And My Mother Was Too, adapted from the original and performed by Mr. David Nesbitt

We'll Gather Lilacs, performed by the company, singing along encouraged 

* * *

_\- article from The Evening Standard, Tuesday 2 December, 2008_

**NOVELLO LETTERS REVEAL MORE THAN ONE MYSTERY** \- Purchased at auction of the estate of Sir David Nesbitt last fall by an unknown bidder, it was announced today that the letters of Ivor Novello have been donated in their entirety to the Women's Library, by Mrs. Jane Parks Houston of Kilmacolm, Scotland, who also contributed funds towards the endowment of the organisation's Contemporary Stories project. In a subsequent statement released to the press, the Women's Library announced that the letters would be included with the Mabel Astley Nesbitt Papers, which would then be renamed the Constance Denton-Ashley/Mabel Nesbitt Collection, and combined with the Denton-Ashley materials already in the Library's possession. Mrs. Nesbitt, under her newly uncovered pseudonym, was a popular and successful writer of comic romances and mysteries during the 1940s. Only a few knew the truth until the public display of some of her letters last fall, according to Mrs. Houston, whose late mother was among that select group. The library hopes research of the combined documents will shed light on the reason for the pen name's creation, and how Mrs. Nesbitt was able to keep her secret from the public throughout, and indeed beyond, her life. 

 


End file.
